Cold
by xxDark-Elfxx
Summary: Set after X3. AU if you believe Scott's really dead. Scott/Logan pre-pre-slash, with a likely follow-up and possibly multi-chapters. R&R, please.
1. Chapter 1

Cold

In almost twelve years, Scott had never been cold. He was a walking solar panel, converting UV rays into deadly optic blasts put off plenty of heat, so along with color, being cold was something he knew only from Before.

Now, though, he couldn't stop shivering. The feeling of millions of shards of ice nestling under his skin causing him to shiver and curl around himself on the hard ground. But even warmth couldn't stop his eyes from trying to look everywhere at once. His glasses were gone but there was nothing to worry about right now because so were his powers. Both stolen by Jean. No. Not-Jean. Not-Jean had done the impossible, taking all the intensity his power had to offer and absorbing it, throwing him aside and leaving hungry for more.

And that was bad but he couldn't help it right now. Later, when he'd been in the sun long enough to walk, he'd try and find his bike, try to get back home. Not-Jean had to be stopped. But he could look until then, memorizing colors he forget he remembered.

A flash of silver caught his eye and he managed to force his hand to it, grasping the small rectangle in a weak fist, wanting watch the light play over the metal surface. He heard a chain dragging over the gravel and an old memory rose up. His father teaching him to ride a bike, leaning next to him and talking about momentum and balance and Scott watching the sun reflecting off his dad's dogtags. Those same dogtags were in a box somewhere at the school, all they found of his parents after the plane crash.

The ones in his hand felt warm, like they'd been laying against the living skin of the owner only moments ago. He ran his thumb over the engraved name. Wolverine. More memories, twice as recent. Marie proudly displaying the dogtags Logan gave her to give him back. The same dogtags he saw Logan throw at Stryker's feet. He wondered what the odds were of him finding the pair that meant anything to him out of all the ones left from Stryker's soldiers. In the hundreds probably. Slowly he wrapped the chain around his wrist, feeling the warmth spreading throughout his hand. _I'll be back for these._

Scott's last thought as he drifted into darkness was _God, I hope so._

finite


	2. Chapter 2

Wind

The fading rays of sunlight chased shadows across the roof of the school as Logan settled into place. Tucked between two gargoyles, he crossed his legs in the lotus position, a pose made easily despite his unforgiving skeleton, and let his eyes slide closed, his heartbeat and breathing dropping off to a near catatonic state.

Infinite patience and unearthly stillness were a few of his more surprising trademarks, but ones the kids and adults of Xavier's had quickly come to rely on. In the months after the Professor and Scott's deaths, Logan had been adopted as 'uncle', filling the void of protector and chaser away of the bogeyman of the night. More than once he had found himself spending the early morning hours holding a sniffling child after a nightmare of soldiers and hatred. And damned if Storm would let him forget it.

Not that she didn't have her fair share of midnight awakenings. He noticed an ever-growing collection of sleeping bags tucked neatly in the corner of her greenhouse suite, and even Hank had his share of consoling to do, made more difficult be the necessity of taking over the labs in Jean's absence. Logan spent most of his time rebuilding the school, putting to good use carpentry and architecture skills he never realized he had. After a few meetings with the others, though, talking about structural integrity and fortifications, Ororo had all but thrown her hands in the air before turning the entire project over to him. His days were filled with the smell of sawdust and the sound of hammers, along with the self-defense class he got suckered into leading, and most recently, foreign languages which he apparently spoke thirteen of. There were moments Logan found himself wondering how in the hell a rough and ready loner wound up teaching school, but truth was stranger than most things.

At least he no longer had to worry about impaling the kids like he did Marie. His nightmares were gone. Laid to rest with whatever remained at Alkali Lake. And yet...there was something else. A feeling at the back of his brain, like some sort of sonar, pinging away at him when he was quiet enough to listen. Calling him to something, something important. Once he might have turned to Xavier for an explanation, but now it was up to him.

So at dusk, when the kids were watching the sitcom of the week, with Ororo and Beast buried in their respective paperwork, Logan ascended to the roof. He closed out the world and let the feeling rise to the forefront of his mind, let it talk to him like he would a scent on the wind. Let it's secret come to him...

_Scott. He's alive_.

Logan's eyes snapped open and he smiled into the gathering dusk. Spring was coming, most of the kids off to the MacTaggert place for the beaches and the privacy to just be kids with superpowers. Not a bad time for him to dust off his boots for a little trip north. He took a deep breath, catching a hint of Irish Spring soap and engine grease in the air. His smile turned sharper, predatory gaze casting a final sweep over the grounds below.

_Tomorrow,_ he decided. _Let the hunt begin._

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Author's note: First thing I wanna say is thanks for all the great reveiws! This has always been my favorite pairing and I was very nervous posting this.

Second, this Logan is my version of Logan. In the movies he strikes me as being much more laid back than he is in comic'verse, something I attribute to not remembering anything before Weapon X. You can't tell me all those false memories don't have something to do with Wolvie's short fuse! So if he seems 'tamed' to you, I apologise, but that's how I see him in this 'verse.

Third, clever readers will note Logan mentions it's been 'months' since the Professor died, yet when we left Scott, Jean had just risen from the lake. Some of you may be scratching your heads and if any of you are like me, you're probably cursing. So I'm giving you all fair warning, I mess around in time a little here. Both Scott and Logan are moving on separate but parallel paths towards the conclusion. Eep, I've said too much already!


	3. Chapter 3

**Fire**

The world was burning.

Scott had been wandering through towns and forests alike, picking his way around charred remains of trees and homes, turning in circles. He could see the glow of fire on the horizon, smell the smoke on the wind, and he knew, with the kind of certainty you only get when something's gone horribly wrong, he knew he was the only one left.

_Scott._

_Scott._

_Over here._

Voices echoed across the blackened sky, calling him towards the flames, luring him one way then another.

"Jean?"

_Scott._

_I need you to help me._

_Save me._

_Scott._

"Leave me alone! Let me go, Jean!" He stumbled, barely catching himself on a crumbling fence. A sudden sound had him reaching for a visor that wasn't there. A ruffle of feathers and Scott looked up, scanning the roofline while inching back to the relative safety of the walls. There, a pale gray shadow against soot black chimneys. Just an old barn owl, no doubt looking for the remnants of his roost.

_Scott._

_I need you._

"Shut up, Jean." He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. God, he was tired. Another hoot had him looking back at the bird, now perched on the fencepost in front of him. The owl peered intently at him, making a inquisitive little chirrup noise.

"Okay, I realize I'm most likely suffering from some sort of hallucination brought on by stress or the fact that I'm dead, so to hell with it. Are you trying to tell me something?"

The owl nodded solemnly.

"Right. Why not? Okay, Mr. Owl, what can I do for you?"

The bird tilted it's head to the side before flying off to land on another fencepost further on down the road.

"I take it I'm supposed to follow you?"

Another hoot was his response. Glancing at the fire surrounding him, Scott shrugged and set off down the road.

"All right, Lassie. Lead on."

Scott walked after the bird for what felt like hours, climbing over charred vehicles and destroyed homes but not, he was glad to find, ruined bodies. Slowly the debris faded, though the fire remained a distant glow on the horizon, and the trip became a strange sort of tag, with the owl flying ahead to land on the blackened road until Scott drew almost even before taking off again. Free from the distraction of watching where he stepped, and the finally silent voice of Jean, Scott took a closer look at his surroundings. There was something familiar about the road, like he'd walked it years before and was just now heading back down the path.

He paused to catch his breath, leaning against the remains of an oak tree nearby. The owl banked back around to land on its lone branch. Scott angled his head slightly to study his unlikely companion, careful not to startle it. It was a full grown barn owl, probably a pale tan or white under the soot, It's eyes were a fascinating blue, clear and oddly human. Unthinking, he shifted closer and the bird took off with an indignant hoot.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! Really, I'm…I'm apologizing to a bird. Great. Score one for crazy." He sighed and moved to push away from the tree, only to freeze as his fingers brushed over the bark. Crouching, he swept the ash from the trunk, revealing a worn carving, and a chill ran down his back. There, etched into the surface and untouched by the flames that raked over everything else, were four sets of initials.

_**S.S. J.G O.M H.M.**_

"Oh my god." Scrambling back from the tree, Scott felt his stomach turn, his mind already screaming at him that it wasn't, could _never_, be true. No matter what twisted power corrupted Jean Grey, she would die rather than let anything like this happen. The pounding of his feet matched the pulsing of his blood in his ears as he ran down the driveway, praying to every deity he could think of. He slowed as his strength and hope finally gave out, falling to his knees at the base of what was once a fountain.

Looming over him, walls crumbling and windows blown out, the once immaculate lawns strewn with rubble, stood the only building Scott had ever called home.

"Jean. God, Jean, what did you do?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Water**

Logan was three miles outside of Westchester when the storm hit, hail and rain pounding down with equal force. He slowed down to a crawl, glad he had taken one of the mansion's bigger jeeps instead of Scott's bike. A glance in the rearview mirror made him smile as he saw the mound of equipment and supplies Ororo and Hank had loaded in the back. Medical kits, tents, a portable stovetop, food, and even a homing beacon linked directly to the Blackbird. He'd started to protest when he found them in the garage, bags spread over the floor, piling gear in the trunk. Hank even had a checklist he was going down. Storm cut him off though, her voice laced with regret and determination. "If you find him, you're going to need supplies." Hank had the grace to murmur about missing thermal blankets before withdrawing to the hall outside.

"You don't think I can find him?" Logan tried to keep his voice level but the challenge was there anyway.

Storm stood slowly, brushing dust off her hands and tucking her hair behind her ear, before turning to face him.

"I'm not sure there's anything to find, Logan." She paused, glancing over to Scott's bike, brought back with them from Alkili Lake with Jean and not touched by anyone save Logan's upkeep. She walked over and picked up the backpack slung over the handlebar. "I've known Scott for almost twelve years. I can't see him not coming back to us, to the school, unless he's... "

He heard tears in her voice and swore. "Hey." He waited until she faced him again before taking a deep breath. "I can't explain why or hell, even how. But I know he's alive. And I'm gonna find him and bring him home."

Ororo held his gaze for a moment and he fought not to squirm. She always made him feel just a little bit like one of the students when she gave him that look. Then her eyes softened a fraction and she gave him a single nod. Logan was finding it easier and easier to understand why she was considered a goddess in her homeland.

"If you do find him," Hank's said as he walked up between them, hand outstretched. "You're going to need this."

Logan took Scott's combat visor and tucked it into his jacket pocket, where it settled neatly against his chest, like it was something he carried all the time. Storm handed him the backpack, brushing her fingertips over his, and Logan felt a breeze drift over his cheek. "Come home safe. Both of you." Storm said and it was Logan's turn to nod as he climbed in the jeep. He felt the pinging in his mind again, an internal compass telling him where to go. He lit up a cigar as he took off down the driveway.

"Okay, Slim. I'm coming."

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A/N: Thanks to all of you who have taken time to review. It means the world. (And of course, the guesses as to what's going on are just fun...)


	5. Chapter 5

**Air**

Scott stumbled on trembling legs, walking taking so much more focus and effort than he remembered, and reached for the blackened handle on what remained of the once imposing solid oak door. The wood gave under the slightest pressure with a crack like breaking bones and Scott would have sobbed if he had any tears left. He stepped over the threshold and felt the weight of the mansion settle around his shoulders, as if it were too tired to hold itself up any longer and was grateful for the return of its once favored son to help bear the burden. He closed his eyes, not wanting the first image of his home without the necessary ruby quartz barrier to be tainted with smoke and ash, and called up the memory of his first time walking into this house when he was still blinded by fate and led by a kind voice and the sound of wheels on tile.

_He had felt the space first, an immense opening surrounding him and sheltering him. The next thing he noticed was the smells, a mix of books, old books, and food. He perked up at that and the kind voice gave a gentle chuckle, as if it knew he hadn't eaten in a day and a half and that lasagna was his favorite. The voice asked if he would like to see the school and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He felt a presence brush against his mind, asking permission, and then suddenly he could see the hall in which he stood, albeit from a different angle than he felt was right. Like looking around a corner with a mirror, he saw the world just a touch off scale, and had to concentrate his mind to make sense of the view. He 'saw' a staircase rising in front of him, and doorways opening off to either side. He tilted his head back and waited as the view followed behind until he was sweeping his 'eyes' over a skylight ceiling and stunning chandelier. He turned his head this way and that, patiently letting the vision adjust before moving onto the next direction. His mind drank in the sights, instantly memorizing the walkways and doorways of this new habitat, calculating the angles of steps and turns and adding it to the details he picked up from the outside until Scott had a mostly complete blueprint of sorts in his head. Satisfied that he had the layout correct, he turned towards the voice, curious as to what kindness looked like. A longer wait this time and the vision that appeared was different yet again. A reflection, in fact, as the voice, no, as the Professor explained, he was substituting the image he saw in the mirror that morning since it would be rather difficult to look at himself without one. The man in his mind gave a gentle smile and Scott smiled back as the picture faded and blackness returned. He found his voice than, and followed the sound of the wheelchair down the hall._

"_Thank you, Professor."_

Scott opened his eyes and let the memory slip away, taking in the same grand walls and ornate carvings now marred by flames and smoke. He made his way down the same hall he traveled so long ago, averting his eyes from the doors he passed. There had been no bodies throughout the rest of the town but he was taking no chances in these treasured halls. His steps never faltered as he picked his way over the broken glass and furniture but as he reached for the door he paused, his hand diverting and going to the untouched violets in the vase on the left. He chuckled softly, she always had a streak of irony in her, and pushed open the door, calmly meeting the gaze of the person standing behind the desk. Standing, of course, because the desk's rightful owner had no need for a chair. The room was filled with the sharp scent of ozone, slightly burned, like a blown circuit, and Scott had the sudden urge to open the windows, all the windows, and let out the smoke and musty air choking the mansion's spirit. Instead he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin just the slightest bit, adding just a trace of defiance to his otherwise neutral words.

"Hello, Jean."

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A/N:** I know, I know, another short chapter. But would you rather wait two months for me to tweak a longer one?


	6. Chapter 6

**Snow**

The snow was coming down hard, thick flakes falling with increasing steadiness until the Jeep was moving at a snail's pace and Logan's knuckles stood out in sharp relief on the steering wheel as he peered through the white-out conditions. He coaxed the vehicle around the last hairpin turn, gritting his teeth as the chain-wrapped tires found yet another rut in the beat to hell road that led towards Alkali Lake. With a weary shudder, the engine suddenly died, leaving man and machine to coast gently to a stop against the trees bordering the brackish water. Logan gave the key an experimental crank to no avail, his enhanced hearing picking up the faint click of the starter and making the lack of responding gears and pistons firing all the more obvious. He allowed himself a sigh and a final pull on the cigar stub clenched in his teeth before flipping up his collar and stepping out in to the whirling snow.

He walked the perimeter of the small clearing he was in, his subconscious cataloging the assortment of trees and shrubbery around him, marking their location, species, and usefulness before moving onto the wildlife. Logan let the information wash over him, choosing instead to examine the surface of the lake through the branches. He found the complete lack of movement in the depths disconcerting and as his back brain caught up with his front, he became aware of the utter lack of any form of animal in the area. Moving cautiously back to the jeep, he popped the trunk, snagging the portable tent and a box of rations, before closing and locking it up. He headed for the densest grouping of bushes, some variety of boxwood that formed a natural lean-to with a large bolder. Setting down the supplies Logan paused, turning his attention to the inner sense that had guided him this far. It was silent now, meaning he'd lost the trail altogether? Or was where he needed to be? Of all the times to need a psychic…

"Damnit all to hell." He grumbled, tugging the release strap on the tent with more force then strictly necessary and hitting himself in the shoulder with a pole for his effort. He scowled as the shelter finished deploying and stalked to the other side of the trees, intent on finding enough logs and branches to last the night. He choose a likely oak, mentally berating the whole damn situation from the moment Stryker attacked the school to the hell on Alcatraz, and very nearly missed the dying sunlight glinting dully off something at the base of the tree.

Keys, half buried in the snow, and showing as nothing more than a spot of rusted brown against the white, Logan picked them up, the hair on the back of his neck rising and his instincts screaming, and carefully brushed the remaining dirt and ice from the carved metal. He sucked in a breath as recognition hit.

Scott's keys.

A memory rose up, flooding his mind with the last time he'd seen these keys. The last time he'd seen Scott.

_He'd been hunting Summers throughout the school ever since that disaster of a Danger Room session. He wanted to grab the other man and shake him, scream at him, punch, kick, claw, anything to try and break through the icy shell Scott had erected after Jean's death, but as he finally caught the object of his pursuit, all he felt was worry._

_Worry over the dark circles visible even under the heavy frame of his glasses. And the dark clothes, roughly pulled on and worn like armor. They traded barbs back and forth, Logan looking for the familiar straightening of Scott's spine, the edge of tolerance that had always crept into his voice when they spoke before. All he found was spite and insults, spiked weapons around a bleeding soul. As Scott turned to leave, Logan caught the scent of antiseptic, the scent of the lab and his nightmares and Jean, and unbidden his hand reached out and grabbed Scott's clenched fist, the keys the younger man clung to winding up pressed between their wrists. They exchanged more meaningless words, Logan's out of desperation, Scott's out of grief, and the fisted metal pulled free of his grasp. He watched the retreating sight of Scott's back until it disappeared down the garage stairs. He turned to leave, just now noticing the kids watching from the balcony, and felt a slight warmth against his skin. Glancing down, he saw a smear of blood across his wrist, giving the appearance he'd slashed it. He wiped it on his shirt tail and headed for Chuck's office. _

_Somebody had to save the kid from himself._

Logan leaned against the oak tree, clenching the keys the same way Scott had then, and feeling the same warmth across his skin. His own blood this time. He stayed that way for a while, breathing in the cold mountain air and focusing all his considerable strength on that whisper of a voice inside that called him to Scott. That told him Scott was alive and out there somewhere. He came back to himself in stages, his sense of touch and the rough bark under his palm surfacing first, followed by the blinding white of the blizzard around him and the taste of water and leaves in the wind. Lastly came scent and sound, a trace of violets and the disturbingly close sound of a heartbeat. Someone else's heartbeat.

Logan spun into a fighting crouch, claws sliding free with the same old flash of pain, and he let loose a warning growl from deep in his chest.

"You'll never find him this way, you know."

The snow parted, revealing a young girl of about seven sitting cross-legged on the jeep's hood. She wore hiking boots, jeans, and a thick sweater, her brilliant red hair parted into two long braids down her back. Logan opened his mouth, a million questions clamoring for answers, but found himself unable to make the slightest sound or movement. The girl slid off the hood and walked towards him and Logan's legs folded beneath him, bring him to eye level with the child.

"He's in too deep. You'll have to follow him down." She frowned for a moment, nose crinkling in thought. "I can't help too much or she'll know. Then we'll really get it. In there, she's stronger than before. It'll be easier for her to trick you, for you to get lost." She peered at him intently, emerald gaze searching his face. Logan felt a brush against his mind, familiar and yet unfinished, but it vanished to quickly for him to get a proper feel for it. The girl smiled at him, evidently pleased by whatever she found.

"I knew you were the one to call. You'll take care of him." She placed her hands on either side of his head, drawing a deep breath and closing her eyes. Logan had a brief sensation of falling, the world seeming to dissolve around them. As blackness moved across his vision, the girl spoke again, sounding sad and yet pleased at the same time.

"It's why you came to us in the first place."

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A/N: Sorry about the wait on this one, Logan was not cooperating! But as a result you get a chapter almost twice the length of the others. Tomorrow I leave for a week vacation out west and will sadly be internet-less. So I hope you guys like it and all answer any and all comments when I get back! Enjoy.

Elf


	7. Chapter 7

Hail

Scott sauntered into the study at a leisurely pace, intent on not allowing his nerves to show. He made a point of examining the tattered remains of the books on the shelves, avoiding the endless black gaze of the creature wearing his best friend's face. She stood with unearthly stillness, silhouetted against the sunset, a statue for all intents and purposes, but Scott felt her attention crawl over him like a spider, sharp and deadly. He stalled as long as he could before coming to a halt a few feet in front of the desk and reluctantly looking her in the face. Her hair stirred in a breeze of her own making, tendrils trailing across sickly pale skin so different from the healthy cream Scott remembered. But her eyes were the most marked difference. Gone was the sparkling emerald he loved, replaced by an obsidian that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

"Been busy, have we? Wreaking havoc and such?"

She smiled, a horrible expression that spoke of kisses laced with poison, and walked right through the oak desk as if it were nothing. "I've been waiting for you. I got bored." She circled him with a predatory air, as if she was sizing him up for a meal. "Would you rather I were out there?" She gestured to the window, which showed not the charred grounds Scott had walked through but the snow covered lakeside. Reality, as it were, and not this twisted playground Jean had trapped him in.

"No." Scott followed her every move, feeling more and more vulnerable without his optic blasts. "Although, I can't help but wonder why you're here instead."

She moved with unnatural rhythm, slinking around the debris and the floor and Scott fought the urge to back away as she suddenly stepped close enough for him to feel her too-warm breath on his cheek.

"I've missed you." She ran her hand across his chest like she had a million times before, the difference being now her touch made his skin crawl. More disturbing, however, was the equally strong urge to drop to his knees and beg for her favor. As years of hard-learned self possession did battle with this unrepentant desire, he noticed a vague feeling of heat, like a fever taking hold of his brain, pulsing with command.

"Get out of my head!" Breathing hard, Scott stumbled back, away from this creature that wore his lover's body like a party dress and violated the very goodness she once stood for. She let him go, the fire in her touch and thoughts leaving residue like oil on his skin, soaking into him and making him feel like scouring himself clean. Sauntering back to the window, she stared out at the picturesque winter scene, disregarding him like a toy she'd grown tired of.

Scott straighten his shirt and clenched his fists at his sides. "What do you want with me? Why bring me here?" _Why let me live?_

She turned her endless gaze back to him and a cruel, hateful smile marred her face. "I went out there, you know. Walked among the little things that had grown up in my absence and was willing to give them a chance to please me. They disappointed me. And when I would have rebuilt them, given them life renewed, I was stopped by one outside my reach." Her eyes drifted to a spot over his shoulder, looking into a memory. "No one had defied my will in so long. I was…intrigued. I offered him all that he wanted. I offered him the woman he loved, a place at my side, freedom of the run of the world. And all he concerned himself with was you." She shifted her focus back to him, pinning him in place with a look of growing ferocity. "I laid myself open for him and he turned me aside."

The temperature in the room was rising, a dry heat swirling through, curling the pages on the desk, burning up the oxygen. Scott moved back towards the door, a gentle but insistent breeze tugging on his clothes, cool air buffering him and beckoning him to safety. Behind the desk, Jean rose into the air, anger staining her features and making her appear all the more alien.

"_**No one lays me aside. I am life incarnate and I will not be scorned. He dared to kill this shell of a body and cast me back to the ether? Back to the cold, barren realms of space that were my prison for so long? But he doesn't know what he's done. I've been in his mind. He's forgotten so much, lost his purpose. I will have my revenge against that animal and he will beg at my feet for death."**_

Scott reached behind him, blindly searching for the doorknob, unable to look away as psychic and kinetic energies spiraled out from Jean's form, imposing their will on anything they came in contact with. He didn't want to know what would happen if they reached him.

"_**He will feel the pain and suffering I was made to endure for so long. And you, you will bring him to me. You will be the lure that baits the trap of my vengeance. And he will die hating you to depths of his soul."**_

A/N: I want to apologize for the delay in this story, real life has gotten away with me. But I'm back now and you can all expect (at least a few) answers in the upcoming chapters. I also want to thank everyone who has put this story on their alert list.

Aragornthia, Athenea199, Cricket24, Gailea122, Key the Metal Idol, Lady Bethia, LadyPeneloSolidor, LadyRomulus, Mardahin, Old Fiat, Saber Faselli, Souless-tears, Tsuki Fox, UraniaChang, WUCGirl, White Sherry, cheekymonkey88, darkwing21, drace-hunter, evil-sami-poo, lokkish, miss Alexander, _and_ picky and paranoid.

It means so much know people are reading and enjoying!

Elf


	8. Chapter 8

**Dirt**

Logan woke to the feeling of hard rocks digging into his back, the scent of fresh earth and burnt leaves overwhelming his sense of smell. He opened his eyes to the same inky blackness as he'd seen when they were closed and sighed. He hated navigating while blind, he always felt like someone was watching him, hovering just out of reach of his other senses. Pulling himself to his feet, he stretched out the kinks from his back, his head brushing the top of the enclosure. Experimentally, he extended his arms out to his sides and met cool rock only a few feet from his body.

"I hate caves." His voice didn't echo, surprisingly, and Logan wished there was even the barest trace of light for his enhanced eyesight to use. A quick check behind him revealed more stone, roughhewn and slightly concave. Logan leaned in, pressing his ear to the surface, straining his hearing for any trace of the world beyond the granite walls. Nothing at first and he was about to give up and head down the only tunnel available to him when he caught it, the faintest sound-wave, a repetitive slap of liquid against solid. Logan turned and strode down the tunnel, his steps long and silent, trying not to think about that sound, relayed from somewhere high above him, trying to ignore the shapes his eyes saw moving, black on black, trying like hell and demons not to let himself come to the conclusion of where he must be, buried under water, trapped in a maze. He came to a fork in the tunnel, twin paths snaking away from him, both headed slightly downward and both ripe with the smell of rotting vegetation. Logan wavered, searching for the feeling inside his mind that said _Scott_ in such a clear way on the surface. It felt muddled down here, distorted somehow, but if he listened...there. He turned to the left and walked on for what felt like hours, days, months? Even his internal clock, never wrong before, seemed confused by the endless blackness and straight path of dirt. Logan shivered as the cold finally registered, a biting absence of anything warm, the kind of dry cold that froze the unaware in their tracks. If he could have seen it, Logan was positive his breath would be misting in front of him. He trudged on, beginning to think he'd been down here for less time than he thought, surely it had only been a few hours, not days, not longer than the normal time it took to reach the end of this godforsaken tunnel and find some shred of _something._

Coming to another fork in the path, he took the right hand tunnel, steps coming faster now as he concentrated his whole attention on the rock and dirt around him, ignoring the dancing figures he saw out of the corner of his eye. Every instinct he had was screaming now, wrong, wrong, this whole place was wrong, unnatural and unending, and he was running now, flat-out down the black tunnel, not looking back, never look back, and surely it had been days now that he was down here, surely years, and even now everyone was thinking where he's been, where he went, when he's coming back, and Marie was getting worried, and that's wrong, too, 'cause no one looks for him and no one cares what happens to him and no one, no one, no one ever remembers him-

"ENOUGH!" Logan's roar erupted out of his chest, more growl than words, and his eyes snapped open to a clear blue sky above gently swaying trees. His breath was harsh, rasping in his ears, and his body ached like he'd just run a marathon backwards. Slowly, he sat up and shifted to lean against a sycamore's trunk. A small hand came into view, holding out a teacup complete with saucer and silver spoon. Finding it more effort than he'd thought possible, Logan turned his head to the side and the girl from the lake came into focus. The hiking boots were the same but the jeans and winter sweater had been replaced by a fluttering summer dress and wide straw hat. Belatedly, Logan realised he was sitting on a blanket, with the makings of a traditional picnic spread in front of him. Carefully, he turned back to the girl, who was now spreading marmalade on a biscuit.

"What. The hell. Was that?"

She daintily popped the biscuit in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, before passing him a plate of mixed fruit. "That was the back door." She gestured for him to eat and Logan reluctantly took a strawberry and ate it, than another, and another, as his mind caught up with his body and told him he was starving. "The back door to what?" He mumbled around a melon slice.

"To where she's keeping Scott. It was the best place I could think of, her back brain, just under the fear impulse. Nobody ever looks there. We're somewhere east of the pleasure center now." The girl took a sip of her tea and frowned as he wiped the fruit juice from his fingers on his jeans. "Of course, you're still far from where you need to be. But I couldn't very well drop you right in middle of her cerebral cortex and not expect her to notice."

Logan sat the plate of cucumber sandwichs he'd been decimating to the side and leaned forward. "All right, hold it right there. I want some answers and I want'em now. Who's she? And where exactly are we? And who in the blazes are you, little girl?"

The girl put down her tea and mimicked his posture, right down to the head tilt. " 'She' is called the Phoenix and we are currently buried deep in her psychic plane where she's holding the mind of Scott Summers prisoner for reasons I can't quite figure out yet. I'm hoping you can resist her like you did on Alcatraz long enough to found out what she's planning and rescue Scott."

Logan sat there, staring at her, while she picked her cup back up and started adding sugar, spoon clinking delicately against the porcelin. He reached for the forgotten sandwichs and they finished their meal in silence, Logan's thoughts whirling as he tried to make some sense out of what the child had told him. Seizing on the details in place of the confusing circles his mind was heading around, Logan leaned forward again, pointing his finger in the girl's face. "You didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

She laid her small hand on top of his larger one and rose up on her knees to look him in the eye. Logan gasped as her deep emerald gaze met his own. She brushed her fingers along his cheek and gave him a sad smile.

"It's me, Logan. It's Jean."

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**A/N:** Well, I glad that's finally posted! Believe me when I say this chapter was a battle to get written. Logan can be very surly when he wants to and he was not cooperating with the writing on this. I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but I hope it answers some of the burning questions about what the heck is going on!

Elf


	9. Chapter 9

**Sand**

Scott stumbled down the hallway, breath coming in pained gasps, as his burst of adreneline wore out. He collapsed in the doorway of Ororo's classroom, wishing for the first time that he had his optic blasts back, if only to not have to waste time running around the obstacles in his path. He carefully looked out into the hall, straining to hear the sounds of Jean-_Not Jean, Not Jean-_coming after him. Silence. Evidently, she wasn't ready to leave Xavier's study yet. Or else she couldn't. Fixing on that encouraging idea, Scott made his way farther into the classroom, stepping around the broken glass and splintered wood from what used to be french doors leading out to the gardens. Righting the lone intact chair, he sat down facing the devastated rose bushes and hedges. Running his hands through his hair, he sighed and took stock of his situation, choosing to ignore the implications talking to himself gave about his mental stability.

"All right. What have I got? No food, no water, although," Scott frowned." I was walking for..." He tried to remember if the position of the sun had changed at all while he was following the owl, but with rising alarm, and a glance outside to confirm, he realized there _was_ no sun. Just a murky glow in the sky that seemed to radiate from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Okay, I was walking for a while, although I'm not hungry or thirsty or tired." Scott stoically refused to allow his mind to entertain other possiblities. "I met no other survivors, so if anyone was here, they must have escaped." A dismal conclusion began to form in the back of his mind. "Somehow the being that looks like Jean is here, and has her powers. But I don' t have mine. The window in the office..." Scott groaned as the conclusion reached him. It was the only explanation that made sense. Scott stood so abruptly he knocked over the chair, and began shifting through the debris on the ground until he found a long, dagger like shard of glass. Carefully lifting it, he removed his leather jacket and threw it on the remains of the desk as he walked closer to the entryway outside, stepping into the light. Scott took a deep breath and raised his left arm, placing the jagged edge of the glass against his skin. He exhaled slowly, to the count of ten, as he pulled the shard across his flesh, wincing in pain and watching as the dark crimson blood welled up and began to drip onto the marble floor. Scott tossed the glass to the side, not caring as it fractured in two upon landing. He gripped his arm, focusing all his intent and considerable willpower on the wound he'd made. He concentrated, hearing Hank's voice lecturing him about psychic shields and how to shape his mind into a wall, how to visualize it brick by brick, and to force it into being. He was no telepath, but he had a say in what went on in his own mind and if his suspisions were right...

Scott hissed in triumph as the blood flow slowly stopped and the cut began to scab over. He wasn't sure how long it lasted but soon all that remained of the cut was an angry looking red scar. Conflicting emotions rose in him, relief and uncertainty mixed with an unwelcome amount of fear. Relief that he wasn't dead, merely out of contact with the physical world, uncertainity as to his way home, and fear. Fear of the unknown terrain he was in, fear of the creature wearing Jean's face, fear of if he'd ever make it out of here, let alone with his psyche intact. And perhaps most dominent, fear of what he'd find if-_once_-what he'd find _once_ he got out of here. The creature said she had walked in the world outside and if this reflection of her intentions was anything to go by, Scott was afraid he'd be returning to not only a forsaken landscape, but to the bodies of his friends and teammates that he'd been spared the visual of here. He shook himself, mentally casting those images away and summoning all the strength he could. He would worry about the real world when he was there, but right now, in this place, he needed to keep his wits about him.

A soft sound at the doorway had him spinning around, remembering his handicap this time and dropping into a fighting stance, hands raised and open, instead of reaching for his visor. The sight that greeted him tore all his hardened resolve away. Jean sprawled languidly in the doorway, clad in a pair of skin-tight black leather pants, with thigh-high boots that laced up the front. In place of a shirt, there was only the barest stretch of leather across her breasts. Scott thought he could almost make out the shape of a bird or insect. Her hair cascaded in waves down to her waist, falling into her face and framing the wicked smile on her lips. Her make-up was dark and wouldn't have been out of place at a rave party. She tilted her hips forward, running her hands over her torso, and her tongue across her lips. Scott felt a sudden rush of anger for the monster perverting his Jeannie's memory, and the creature laughed, a low, sensual sound with an evil twist lancing through it, like a vixen with a knife behind her back, waiting for the moment to stab her lover.

"Now, now, Scottie, is that anyway to treat me, honey?" Scott fought a wave of nausea at the false breathlessness in her voice.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice was cold, hard as steel. His Cyclops voice, one that clearly said 'I give the orders' and tolerated no arguement. The thing in Jean's body just smiled wider, all teeth, as she slinked into the room to drap herself over a school desk.

"It's me, Scottie, it's Jean."


End file.
